No Rules
by Facemash
Summary: A story about Craig when he runs away and is staying on the streets in Toronto, some pre-slash stuff maybe. Sort of.
1. Chapter 1

His hair was so straight and blond. Craig couldn't help staring at it, how it gleamed in the sun. He couldn't help feeling hungry. Feeling his guilt recur over Joey, even though it had been months ago that he had hit him like that. But the guilt would creep back, and he'd feel hot and cold and sick. He'd feel like his father.

Craig was cold despite the sun, it was cold. His guitar was heavy slung over his shoulder by the thick strap. Last night he'd slept on a piece of cardboard, huddled up in his jacket. He woke up once and caught Skinny staring at him. He hoped he didn't get any ideas because he knew he was too tired and weak to fight him off.

The blond kid was wrapped in a blanket, rocking back and forth. His hair kept catching Craig's eye. But he didn't dare speak to him. Lately he didn't dare speak to anybody. He remembered the fight Joey and Caitlin had over him the night he left. Caitlin probably hated him now, like Joey and Angela did. Like Ashley did. He'd fucked things up again.

He was hungry. His stomach felt hollow. It felt like it was trying to devour itself. He knew where the soup kitchen was and he headed that way, but Skinny saw him and looked at him sharp. Skinny grabbed his arm and yanked him back, away. Craig stumbled and felt the mixing of anger and fear he felt when people touched him like that.

"No," Skinny growled, "we don't go there,"

Whatever. Okay. It was Skinny's twisted pride. Craig no longer had any pride. This year had wiped it all away. He had hurt each and every person he loved and now he was here, cold, on the streets. He remembered when he had wanted to run away to B.C., and that had been like a fever dream. What sort of a solution was that? But he'd gone to B.C. with his mother and Joey when Angela was just a baby and he'd been so happy then. He just wanted to feel that way again. Sean's narrowed eyes and disbelieving expression and then what he said, "You can't do that. You'll end up on the streets,"

Pulled along by Skinny and he was too tired and hungry to protest. Let him pull him. They sat against the building on the overturned trash cans or wooden crates or whatever they could find. And now the sky was all gray and spitting rain and his hair was curling like crazy. For awhile there he'd been keeping it sort of straight with gel and the hair dryer, and Joey would smirk at him and he'd tell Joey he was just jealous because he didn't have any hair to do anything with. And Joey would laugh and he'd feel almost like things were okay again.

So they played, Craig on guitar and Skinny on his makeshift drums and he was following Skinny's skewed tempo and making it sound better, he was making them the little bit of money they were getting. But people rushing to work in the city everyday, they were pretty immune to street players and street beggars. Walked by, didn't glance at them. It was okay because it felt good to play the guitar, it was the only thing he had left.

Dim light of late afternoon coming in through the clouds, and Skinny stopped drumming. Looked at Craig through his squinted eyes, grimy face, beard stubble that was red and brown. Craig rubbed his own cheek with his palm and felt the stubble on his cheek.

"I'm tired," Skinny stated, and picked up his drum sticks, headed over to the alley where they had slept last night. He also had collected the money, not offering Craig any, not yet. So Craig watched him go to the alley, felt that this person was his friend. Felt in his pocket for some money. He'd taken all his money when he took off, which wasn't very much. But it was enough to buy some hamburgers for him and Skinny.

He felt self-conscious in the fast food place, felt how his wild curly hair and beard stubble made him look, his clothes getting grimy from the streets, the dust from the roads. Without his meds he was starting to feel his thoughts go faster, starting to feel that slipping he had felt before. But it was tempered by his guilt over Joey and Caitlin and Angela, his anger and feeling betrayed by Ashley, so that was curbing the grandiose tendency of his thoughts. They were just racing.

The girl behind the counter looked at him half scared and half condescendingly and Craig looked down, ordered the food without looking at her. Paid and left. Walked along, the clouds breaking up now, the gold light filtering through, the warm bag of food in his hand. At the alley the blond kid was sleeping and Craig wanted to just touch that silky looking hair that was two shades of blond at once, yellow and almost white, shiny like metal.

Skinny was sitting up and narrowed his eyes at the food, snapped about not going to soup kitchens. Craig felt young suddenly, being yelled at, reprimanded.

"No, uh, I know. I bought this," he tried to explain, and Skinny grabbed his burger from his hand, smiled, and began to eat it like he hadn't eaten in days. Maybe he hadn't. Skinny was true to his word about the soup kitchens and wouldn't go there.

"They don't control us," he was saying around bites, "we don't need them. Social workers," he laughed harshly.

"No rules, my friend. You won't get any of that shit here,"

Craig's thoughts were going fast and he thought of all the rules he'd had with his father, with Albert. Thought about what would happen if he didn't follow those rules. Thought about Joey and all of his rules, and how Joey would yell at him and ground him if he didn't follow them. And even Ashley, she had fucking rules. Weird rules he couldn't figure out, and he never knew what the consequences would be for not following them.

"Yeah, I know," Craig said, "I have this step-father-"

"Gives you a bunch of rules, huh?" Skinny said all fast, the sauce on the burger dripping down his chin and he wiped it with his hand, and Craig thought maybe Skinny was reading his mind.

It was kind of hard to talk to Skinny and Craig didn't really know why. Maybe he was mentally ill, too. Maybe people found it that hard to talk to him, and this worried Craig. He'd seen the looks, seen how Spinner was looking at him at the school when he tried to explain what had gone wrong with Ashley. It had been clear to him. Seen how Joey had looked at him in the boiler room, confused and sad.

"What about your real father?" Skinny said suddenly, surprising Craig. He swallowed hard and looked away.

"Uh, he died,"

He didn't want a barrage of questions about Albert, didn't want to go into the whole thing. Being off his meds, feeling unbalanced, he wasn't sure what he'd end up saying. But Skinny didn't pursue it, just started talking about his parents. It was a disjointed stream, and Craig tried to follow along. He got out of it that his father had been an alcoholic and his mother took him and his brother and left and then he got into drugs in ninth grade or so and then, well…it started to twist around and back again. But he nodded, because he was sure it was straight in Skinny's mind like the shit he said to people was straight in his.

The blond kid was waking up, stretching, his perfect straight hair falling back from his forehead. Craig couldn't help staring at this kid, wondering about him. How old he was, what he was doing here in this alley of runaways and homeless kids.

He thought about the times he'd ran away. Three times. The first one was because of his father beating him and he'd gone to Sean. But he'd been so much more okay then. Hurt from his father physically and emotionally and suicidal, but his thoughts had been clearer. He'd been more in the world. Now everything was racing like those runny looking lights through wet car windows, skidding on the turns. That was off his meds. If he was on them everything was dulled, slowed down, underwater. The next time had been when Joey asked for rent and he'd misinterpreted it, had thought Joey was sort of saying he didn't belong there. And now this time, and this time was for real.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up early, hard to sleep on the ground, just a piece of a cardboard box under him. In the dim morning light Craig just laid there, hugging himself, feeling stiff and sore. Maybe he'd dreamt of his father last night. He hadn't had a dream like that in a long time.

He was so hungry he felt near tears, his stomach twisting and he could feel the digestive juices sloshing around with nothing to do, a sour taste in his mouth. He'd have to risk Skinny's wrath and go to the soup kitchen. They'd only made change yesterday, barely enough for coffee.

Laying there, the light filling the sky, more and more cars driving by as rush hour picked up. Morning commute. Craig peered at some of the people in their cars, scrunched up faces looming over steering wheels, fingers wrapped around cups of coffee. They had somewhere to go and he almost envied them.

Skinny stirred next to him, yawned, sat up.

"Hey," Skinny said to him, smiling tiredly.

They'd walked a bit, the guitar over his shoulder. Found a place that looked fairly busy, started to play. Craig could barely concentrate, the hunger real and alive inside of him. His fingers kept missing the notes and Skinny kept looking at him sharply. Craig would hurriedly apologize, not liking the way Skinny's anger reminded him of Albert. More than once he'd flinched away from Skinny, thinking he was going to hit him.

He played a wrong note, jarring twanging and Skinny stopped the drumming.

"What the hell, Craig! Do you want to make any money at all?"

His breathing was slightly quicker and he looked down, but he was getting angry, too.

"Fuck, Skinny, I can't play. I'm too hungry. So I'm going to that goddamn soup kitchen whether you like it or not-" He stood up but Skinny grabbed his sleeve. He wasn't angry, which surprised Craig. He just held onto his sleeve, cleared his throat.

"I know, okay. But don't go to that stupid soup kitchen. There's…look, there's something else we can do,"

People walking by, dressed in business casual, none of them stopping or even glancing at them and Craig felt invisible. He sat back down and Skinny let go of his sleeve, looked at him with a softer look and a small smile.

"We're gonna eat?" Craig said, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah. We're gonna eat,"

He felt better and almost less hungry with the promise of food, and he managed to play for a while without making too many glaring mistakes, and Skinny's temper seemed to have evaporated. Craig had that feeling again, that this person was his friend. He saw the blond kid every so often, bundled into an olive green army coat, the shaggy pretty hair hanging across his forehead. Craig licked his lips.

Light fading, the same commuters who had commuted in were commuting out. Invisible now in their cars, headlights shining, flashing as they drove past. They'd played the music all day and only had a few bucks to show for it. They got convenience store food, and Craig squinted against the bright florescent glare of the overhead lights, and the clerk eyed them, touched his gun beneath the counter. He was so hungry that the convenience store food almost tasted good.

"C'mon," Skinny said, standing on the sidewalk outside the store. Craig looked around. He saw no pressing need to go anywhere. He could almost feel his body absorbing the nutrients from the sandwich he just ate.

"Where?" he said, and saw just a flash of annoyance go across Skinny's features. Craig took a step away from him.

"Just-follow me,"

Down one street and then down another, and Craig was glad for the energy the food gave him. The hunger had been making him tired despite his racing thoughts. They were at the train station. It always smelled of urine, steamed food, car exhaust, cleaning fluid. Craig wrinkled his nose and Skinny laughed.

"You'll get used to it,"

"What are we doing here? Taking a train somewhere?" Craig said, looking around at the turnstiles, the stairs leading to the garages, the cars crawling along the curb. He was puzzled. They didn't have any money.

"No," he shook his head, a half bemused look on his face, "see these cars? A lot of these guys are looking for dates, tricks. And they're loaded,"

Craig's eyes widened slightly. He got it now. Tricks. Prostitution. He hunched up his shoulders, crossed his arms over his stomach. Saw the slow moving or parked cars along the side, saw the eyes on him, middle aged guys with wives and kids and houses somewhere in the suburbs.

"Skinny, I don't know…"

"Look, they pay a ton. Fifty, a hundred bucks a pop. Just one time and we can eat for a week. Twice and we can get a shot," Skinny was looking at him with this bright feverish look and Craig didn't like it. Saw this one car, a gray town car and a business man in a blue suit and a red tie.

"A shot? Heroin?" Craig said. It was all he could think of, and it scared him. He felt almost like himself again for a second, the way he had felt in ninth and 10th grade. Sensible. Aware of the consequences of his actions. Sexually transmitted diseases, overdose, going to jail. For one glittering second he thought that way again, then it slid away from him. He was hungry, he was stiff and sore from sleeping on the street, he had been abandoned by everyone, Ashley and Joey, he didn't care.

"Yeah, if we have enough money. Look, see that town car? That guy's been staring at you ever since he pulled up. Go over. Tell him fifty for whatever, a hundred for all the way," Skinny shoved him toward the car and Craig leaned down to talk to the guy through the rolled down window.

"Uh, hi," Craig said, his mouth dry, his heart beating too fast.

"Hi," the guy said, "get in,"

He opened the door and sat down, smelling the vanilla air freshener, stale cigarettes, fast food. The guy looked to be maybe mid-thirties, kind of slim, slight receding hair in a crew cut. Craig swallowed hard, tapped his nails on the dashboard. This didn't feel quite real.

"Okay, uh, look. It's fifty for, well…what do you want?" Craig felt incredibly stupid, saying this stuff like he was in some movie or something. The guy seemed cool and collected, like he'd done this a million times. Maybe he had.

"Fifty. No problem," the guy said, "I want to go down on you,"

Craig took a few shallow breaths, thought of bolting, running from the car. He saw Skinny standing on the platform. What was he thinking of doing? Was he going to do this? For fifty bucks?

The guy pulled away smoothly from the curb and into traffic, headed for the hotel room he had reserved. Craig watched as buildings slipped past the tinted windows. It didn't occur to him to ask the guy his name.

Through the cheap hotel lobby, into the gray elevator, circle buttons all lit up. Craig kept blinking, kept looking around everywhere, wondered why he seemed to be going through with this. Inside the room, the guy slipped off his tie. Craig just stood there, not knowing what to do. He noticed the bed, the bedspread looking old and faded, washed too many times.

"Fifty bucks," the guy reminded him, and pushed him toward the bed. There was a funny letting go then, a sort of acceptance that Craig felt. He was desperate. Fifty bucks was a lot more than nothing. He'd let this guy do what he wanted to him for fifty bucks. What did it matter anyway?


	3. Chapter 3

The shower felt good. Hotel shower, but it was hot, and Craig thought he could stay in that shower for hours. He'd just been so dirty. Just standing near those streets and the cars flying by in the rain, car exhaust, dirt everywhere. He let the hot water pound against his body and it felt so good.

When he'd been on that hotel bed the guy, the business guy, he'd started undoing his belt and the zipper to his jeans and Craig had squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He knew he shouldn't be doing it. But the force of Skinny's suggestion was strong and he felt unable to resist.

The guy had tossed a fifty dollar bill at him after he'd done it and despite himself Craig had come, the guy was pretty good at that. Maybe he did this all the time, he probably did. Craig shook his head, dried off with hotel towels and got back into his clothes. The clothes were dirty, dusty, grimy. He shuddered a little at having to put the dirty clothes on when he was so clean for once.

The business guy was laying on the bed, watched Craig come out of the bathroom, his hair wet but brushed out of his eyes. Craig ducked his head, thinking paranoid thoughts like the guy might rape him and kill him, who knew? He didn't know this guy who went looking for prostitutes at that sleazy train station.

"Hey, kid, what's your name?" the guy said, barely looking up at him.

"Craig," he said softly.

"Craig, I'll drive you back to the station,"

Skinny wasn't there when he got back and Craig felt suddenly lonely. He could feel the fifty dollar bill in the front pocket of his jeans, kept touching it to make sure it was still there. He sat on one of the benches, wouldn't look at the cars crawling along the curb. Thought about Ashley again, how she had ,looked at him with incredulous anger when he said he was going to London. Thought about Spinner calling Joey when he'd been trying to write that song, and Joey's sad and disappointed look. Joey thought he was crazy, and so did Ash. They all thought it.

"Hey, how'd you do?" Craig looked up and saw Skinny smiling down at him.

"Good. Fifty,"

"Not bad. C'mon, let's go get something to eat,"

They had grinders, not too expensive but filling. Skinny ate like he'd never eaten before, tearing into the sandwich. Craig watched him with wide eyes. He was like an animal, and then it occurred to him that he didn't know how long Skinny had been living like this. Maybe after a while he'd start to eat like that, too.

Skinny licked the oil and vinegar from his fingers, picked up a few shreds of lettuce and popped them into his mouth. Craig downed the rest of his soda.

"Let's go see Clarence," Skinny said, his eyes glowing.

"Who's Clarence?" Craig said, tossing his wrapper and crusts into the trash. He felt so good not being hungry for once. Not being as dirty. 

"You'll see,"

So he'd followed him out onto the streets, the sidewalks slick with rain again, the cars splashing them. Craig put the hood of his black sweatshirt on, pulled the strings. Skinny walked fast and he practically had to run to keep up with him. They went from one lit streetlight area to the next, falling into the gloom between them. Craig remembered that business guy in the hotel room, the hotel bed with the old and faded bedspread, and how he'd tugged down his jeans and boxer shorts and he said, "You'll like this,"

They went up to a two story house with a porch and sliding glass doors, the rain dripping on them, running from the gutters and the eaves of this house.

"Is this Clarence's house?" Craig said, tugging on Skinny's sleeve.

"Yeah. Look out for the dog,"

Skinny tapped on the glass doors and a gold colored pit bull came flying up toward the glass, barking like some demon hound, and Craig jumped back. Then a guy with black hair in a bowl haircut grabbed the dog by the collar and dragged it away. Somewhere in the house Craig could still hear it barking like crazy, slamming itself into a door somewhere. The guy slid the glass doors open and let them in.

"Who's this?" he said, looking at Skinny.

"Craig. Don't worry. He's cool,"

They were in a kitchen that didn't even have a table, just a few chairs. The kitchen, and the house, was big enough, but sparsely furnished. Craig peeked into the living room and didn't see any furniture in there, either.

"Craig, this is Clarence," Skinny said, and they shook hands. Craig squinted at him, trying to guess his age. 19, maybe. Maybe 20. He was deeply tan and muscular, and his black hair hung straight and even around his head. 

Clarence and Skinny went to the other side of the kitchen, speaking in whispers. Craig gazed at his reflection in the sliding glass doors, and it appeared that there was a ghost of him standing a few inches above the porch.

"Nice meeting you," Clarence said to him as Skinny walked over.

"Uh, yeah, you, too," Craig said, and he could still hear the dog going crazy locked in some bedroom.

Clarence smiled, listening to the dog.

"That's Honey, my pit bull," he said, and Craig nodded. Skinny tugged on his sleeve and pulled him.

"C'mon, Craig, let's go. Bye, Clarence, thanks,"

"No problem. Anytime,"

Outside again, and the rain had tapered to a drizzle. Craig followed Skinny back to the alley they usually slept in.

"We have enough money for a hotel room-" Craig started to say.

"We won't waste the money on that, Jesus, Craig," Disgusted with him, and almost angry, and Craig looked at him cautiously. Then his look softened and Craig let out his held breath.

"Clarence is smart," he was saying, digging a little packet out of his pocket, along with a spoon, a lighter, a cotton ball, a hypodermic needle. Craig looked at all the drug paraphernalia in awe and fear. Skinny cooked up a shot on the spoon like he'd done it a thousand times before. Maybe he had.

"He's smart because he sells but he doesn't use, so it's all profit. He bought that house that way, and he's only 19,"

Craig thought about that, it seemed kind of dangerous, in a way. But that house was twice the size of Joey's.

"Ever done heroin before?" Skinny asked him, and Craig shook his head. It was a narcotic, and he liked the idea of narcotics, a floating kind of high, a depressant. Maybe it could calm him down, dull the racing thoughts, erase Ashley and her crying and turning away from him. He could hear her, what she said, as clear as if she had just said it, "I need to get away," she'd said, "from you,"

"All right, I'll do it for you," Skinny said, and they were sitting in that alley, backs against the brick wall. Skinny pushed up Craig's sleeve, tied a tourniquet around his arm and Craig watched his veins pop out as they swelled with blood. The tourniquet was a leather belt, and when he looked at it he remembered his father and all the times he'd strapped him with his damn belt, and it had looked just like this one. Craig shook his head, Jesus was he fucked up.

Skinny tapped at one of the veins, blue and swollen, and he was looking at it critically like a nurse about to insert an I.V. Craig wasn't afraid of the pain or needles or anything. He didn't really care. Just watched Skinny with a sort of detached interest as he hit at that vein with the needle and drew up some blood and then slammed the shot into him. It was almost immediate, the floating ecstasy feeling, and Craig couldn't believe how good it felt, like an orgasm but better, a thousand times better. His eyes shut and his head fell back and he sighed in pleasure and Skinny smiled indulgently at him.

"You like that, huh?" Skinny said to him, and he touched Craig's hair, brushed it gently out of his eyes before he turned his attention to his own shot. 


	4. Chapter 4

Morning and the light was gray and dull. Craig felt stiff from sleeping almost sitting up and he felt kind of low and really sober. And he was hungry again. Skinny was sleeping curled up, head tucked toward his chest. So Craig stood up slowly and started toward the soup kitchen, since Skinny had taken all the money and maybe he spent it all. He didn't know.

Craig knew Skinny hated the soup kitchen and wouldn't set foot in it, and he wasn't all that crazy about it either. But it was better to get some food than to feel that hunger shriveling all his cells. He saw the men with the long hair and the dirty coats, mumbling to themselves sometimes. Craig narrowed his eyes at them. They scared him because he knew they were probably mentally ill and he was, too. What if he ended up like that?

"Hi," Craig looked up from his place in line when he heard the overly friendly female voice. Social worker. He knew right away. She looked to be in her mid-forties, short, kinda fat. Her head only came up to his shoulder.

"Hi," Craig said, his voice soft. The lady smiled at him in this way, this hiding her pity way that Craig didn't like. He'd seen that type of look a lot since he was diagnosed with bipolar.

"What's your name?" she said, and Craig noticed the crystal on her necklace, noticed the dim light gleaming off of it.

"Craig," he said, not really wanting to tell her his name. Now she had a piece of him.

"Craig, do you have a place to stay?" She looked at him with her small eyes, but they were kind eyes. He looked down.

"Uh, yeah,"

"You do?" She tried to get him to look at her, touched his arm. He tensed up but didn't flinch or pull away. He didn't answer, either. He looked up at the backs of the jackets of the men in front of him.

"Craig, how old are you?" Her voice was sweet, a high pitched nice voice, and her questions weren't accusatory. Still, Craig felt like she was interrogating him.

"16,"

He did look at her then, swallowed hard. She wanted to help him, he knew that. But what could she do? He'd burned all his bridges at home, with Ashley, he'd been off his meds for so long. Everyone was better off without him. Even his dad had known what a terrible person he was. So what could this lady do to fix that?

"Here," she handed him a card with numbers to various help hotlines, and he stared at it, "my office number is on the back, so call when it gets to be too much,"

He slipped the card into his pocket and watched her move onto someone else, and he moved up in line.

He had eaten all his food there and then left, noticing that the sun was higher and brighter in the sky. From a distance he could see the kid with the blond hair. He walked slow, feeling kind of numb.

Another day of playing the guitar, his fingers automatically finding the notes. Skinny was in a bad mood and had hardly spoken to him at all. Craig kept looking at him quick.

"What the fuck, Craig!" Skinny said, and Craig stopped playing and looked at him.

"What?"

"What! You can't fucking play any of these notes right, you're screwing everything up," Skinny stood up and shoved him, and Craig regained his balance and shoved him back. The only person around his age he'd physically fought with was Spinner, and Spinner hadn't been that good of a fighter, weak punches, weak wrestling moves. Skinny, however, punched him hard in the face and kicked him in the stomach and Craig doubled up, the pain of being kicked like that, not being able to breath brought his father flashing back to him and for a second he was confused as to who had hit him and where he was.


	5. Chapter 5

"Craig, hey. I'm sorry," Skinny touched his hair, brushed it away from his forehead, and Craig heard that note of sorrow in his voice that reminded him of his father. His father had been sorry, too. But he let Skinny touch him, believed that he was sorry.

They were in that section of town with the huge office buildings, the walls of glass that reflected everything with this blue tint. The people here worked in these buildings and rushed in at eight o'clock and rushed out at five or six or seven, all dressed in these tailored fancy business clothes and Craig would squint at them. They had it all together, these business workers. Job, fancy clothes, some sort of direction. No wonder they couldn't see him.

"I get too angry, sometimes," Skinny said, still touching his hair, and Craig sighed, closed his eyes. He still hurt from the kicks and punches, felt that weird endorphin reaction to being hurt. And like when his father would beat him he thought he deserved it. And it didn't matter anyway.

Skinny leaned in close to him, kissed his temple, and Craig shivered. He liked the feeling. Skinny kissed him again, this time on the mouth and Craig turned to him, kissed him back.

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Late at night. Skinny was gone. Craig didn't know where and he didn't care, not really. He could feel the thoughts racing in his head like real things, like wires or snakes, and he couldn't catch them. Maybe he didn't want to. Saw the glass walls of the office buildings reflecting the car lights that flew by. Hungry again. He moaned. Would this hunger ever go away?

He took the card he got from the social worker out of his pocket and stared at it. Looked at all the hotline numbers and her office number on the back, her name above it. April Leblanc. He could see her, short, pudgy, little eyes, long sweater over a turtleneck and a crystal necklace.

What would they do if he called one of these numbers? Bring him back to Joey? Joey was probably just repairing things with Caitlin now that he was gone and not causing all those fights. And Angela was probably happier with him gone, since he had beaten up Joey right in front of her. His dad had done that to his mother when he was younger, he had been seven or eight, maybe. He'd been so afraid, afraid that his dad was going to kill her, afraid of the anger and energy that was in the room, afraid of the yelling. He'd done that same thing to Angela, he knew he did. Because he was crazy, and he was like his father, more like him than he ever wanted to admit. He was violent. He shook his head, felt the tears coursing down his cheeks. He couldn't call any of these numbers. He couldn't go back.

He sat there, feeling wrung out, exhausted. Saw the blond kid walk by, his hair catching the light from cars and streetlights, the white/blond color always catching his eye. Craig watched him turn the corner and disappear.

"There you are. Jesus, I was looking all over for you," Skinny said, suddenly next to him. Craig looked at him warily. He didn't quite know what to expect from Skinny.

"C'mon, we're gonna get some tricks tonight…they're crawling all over that station. We'll make so much money…" Skinny's eyes were bright at that thought, and he pulled Craig up.

"Uh, I don't know…" Craig said, looking down. Almost afraid to go against Skinny's wishes in a way, and he glanced up at him to see if he was getting angry. He wasn't, not yet. But he stared back at him with a disbelieving look that could turn to anger, Craig knew it could.

"What don't you know? Did you hear what I said? They're all over that place, man. It's easy fucking money. So c'mon," The anger was almost there, and Craig remembered the fight from earlier in the day, felt the bruises from it, and he looked down and nodded, mumbled, "okay,"

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It felt kind of stupid to Craig, to be walking around here trying to find Johns like some character in a movie. How could this be his life? And it was dangerous, he knew that. Serial killers or just sadists, someone like that could really hurt him or even kill him. And then there were STD's, not just AIDS but all of them, gonorrhea, herpes, syphilis. But then, things were more immediate now. He would get the money now. Sexual diseases were long term, and he wasn't really thinking long term anymore. It was day to day, hour to hour.

And then he felt the eyes on him, saw the middle aged guy with the wrinkled dress shirt and loose tie, his car at the curb. Craig went over to him, feeling a little more in control than last time. Leaned in the rolled down passenger side window.

"Hey," Craig said.

"Uh, hi," the guy said, and his staring made Craig feel uncomfortable. He took a shuddery deep breath and thought of running, just taking off, going back despite the fact that things might be better at home since he left.

"Get in," the guy said, and Craig caught a glimpse of Skinny a few yards behind him, and he got in the car.


	6. Chapter 6

He couldn't help thinking the terrible things as the car sped away from the curb. Craig was pressed up as close to the door as he could get and watched the guy from his peripheral vision. He'd taken off the tie and tossed it in the back. The shirt was wrinkled, little relief mountains all over the pale white material. Craig blinked, watching him, trying to figure his age. Thirties? Maybe. Forties? Maybe. He couldn't tell. But he thought the guy was older than twenties.

He tried to think what he'd do if one of these tricks tried to hurt him. What if they took out a knife or a gun and forced him to do things? What if they killed him? They could. Any one of them could. It happened all the time, he knew it did. But did it really matter all that much? What did he have to live for anyway?

Down one street and up another until they reached the motel with the blinking orange neon sign that hurt Craig's eyes. He swallowed hard, suddenly wishing he was anywhere but here. That he was doing anything but this. He was hungry and needed the money and drugs were nice but he just wished he was home. He just wished Joey would forgive him, that Caitlin would forgive him. That Angie could look at him without being scared. That Ashley would come back.

"C'mon," the guy said, his voice sort of playful. Craig got out of the car, feeling stiff and tense. He wasn't in the mood for this, he wasn't up for this. He half thought of calling it all off, but then he thought of Skinny. Skinny would be pissed.

They walked to the door, a flat green like all the rest of the doors in the row. The guy dug a motel passkey from his pocket and slipped it into the door and Craig heard that little hum and saw the green light flash on, and then the guy grabbed the handle and turned it. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight coming in through the one window.

Inside, and the lights were flipped on, overbright white florescent lights, and Craig could see the start of the beard stubble on the guy's cheeks. He saw the cheap motel furniture, fake wood paneling over plastic. The rug was tight indoor/outdoor carpet, a puke green. The blankets on the single made bed looked 40 years old.

"How much?" the guy said, his tone light. Craig stood awkwardly near the bed, not knowing what to do with his hands. He was starting to feel dizzy.

"Uh, a hundred," His voice was thick. He didn't feel good. He kind of swayed where he stood.

"A hundred, huh?" the guy said, pushing Craig lightly toward the bed. When Craig was laying down on the bed he climbed almost on top of him, his face pressed close.

"And what do I get for a hundred?"

Craig tried to pull away. He could smell after shave and cologne and he thought he might throw up. He hadn't thought it through. He'd just said a hundred, he hadn't figured any terms in his head.

"Uh, um, I don't know," Now he felt sort of far away. This wasn't his life. It couldn't possibly be his life. The guy tried to kiss him but Craig turned away. The guy grabbed his chin roughly and turned his face back and tried to kiss him again. This time Craig submitted, opening his mouth and flicking away the guy's tongue, trying to separate himself from this. _Like when dad hit you, just like that, _he thought, remembering how he'd go somewhere else in his head when his father had hurt him.

"Can I fuck you for a hundred bucks?" the guy said, and now he sounded sinister. Craig groaned, not seeing how he could stop it. He didn't seem to be in control in this situation. Not at all.

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Afterward, pulling his clothes back on, feeling such incredible pain that he almost couldn't stand it, tears in his eyes, the guy touched his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" he said, and he sounded more human now. Craig wiped away the tears and shrugged violently away from the guy's hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he said. At least he had the hundred bucks crumpled up in his pocket.

He drove him back to the station and Craig got out of the car, not looking back at the guy at all. He felt the pain from that, what they had done, he felt it in waves. He bit his lip, glancing around for Skinny. This was Skinny's fault. Skinny wanted him to do this. That fucking bastard. And he didn't see him. Good. He didn't want to see him.

He made his way to the men's room and the row of the bathroom stalls. Bathroom stalls were great places. You could shoot up heroin in them or snort cocaine or fuck someone or get fucked. It was great. Craig went into a stall and pulled the door closed, curled up in the corner on the floor. He could just stay curled up in here forever.


End file.
